149, Big Street - where life started for us!

What is common between a Kamal Hassan and a Dr.Subramaniam Chandrasekar?  What thread binds together a W.V.Raman and an S.V.Ranga Rao?  What common platform could possibly a GNB and a Rt. Hon. Srinivasa Sastri have shared?  What magnetic legacy of 160 years could have been intertwined into the lives of  millions from Wichita to Washermanpet and Jacksonville to Jam Bazar? Proceed west straight from the Marina along Pycrofts Road, take a right turn into Big Street and to the left, the answer lies!  The Maha Vishnu of Triplicane, with the unassuming, staid nomenclature of Hindu High School.  

The red-brick edifice straddles history dating far back from what one can remember.  It has seen it all.  It has weathered it all.  It is older than the Indian National Congress, it predates the Mahatma's birth, it is living history.  All of 160 years and still going strong.  It was born when India did not have a single kilometer of railway line.  It was already thriving when trams were first  introduced in Madras.  It has magnificently  managed to survive the ravages of time, stood its ground despite the years and continues to gleam. It is Hindu High School.

It is more than a mere school, it was our life, larger than life.  The logic behind our current existence.  Our creator.  Our springboard to the magic called life.  Our alma mater!

I am privileged that I too am a part of that living history, however miniscule that part be.  I remember the main building in red that reminded many of the Andaman Cellular jail.  I remember the stage ground where the stage, which had hosted many a luminary, also doubled up as the lunch hall of the students. I remember also the Scout ground.  I marvel at the magic of the Hindu producing exceptional sportspersons without the luxury of a respectable play-ground.  I remember the big hall at the second floor where I was treated to film-shows once in six months, with RS exhorting us to 'rapt attention'.  I remember the crafts room with two big handlooms, where once a week we were herded to, to do but nothing but watch the man behind the handloom deftly alternating his left and right strokes.   I remember the gallery room where a diminutive bespectacled teacher took history classes for us in so absorbing a manner that convinced us that history is the greatest subject on earth.

And I do remember my teachers.  The lanky TG Rangachary, the Lord's 11th avatar himself in appearance , who descended on earth for teaching  Tamil.  TC Rangaswamy, class master of VI-D, cruel at times (he made me stand up on a bench for an offence I did not commit) but kind at heart (he, at times, also  made me class-leader).  The 'tincture' Subbarayan in class VII with whom too I had a violent one-way encounter (me, at the receiving end), the 'Gandhi Book centre' Arunachalam master who excelled in simplifying for us the working of  complex contraptions like the voltaic cell and ammeter, with the aid of the Tamil version  book, he always carried.  The gigantic ERS, who used to hold us by the scruff of our necks and bent us forward to slap our backs with the full force of his mega-palm. The affable STP, who introduced the abomination called calculus into our simple lives, in Class XI.   TRR and his elucidation of quantum mechanics with the allegory of sambar rice packets. And Seshan, always ready with his never-failing cure for insomnia in the form a drug called Botany...

And of course DR, the greatest of'em all.  Teaching the queen's English for us in Class XII. Cricket, we all love.  Cricket, we all have played with varying degrees of skill, in our lives.  But DR brought Neville Cardus straight to our classrooms.  "Cricket is a capricious blend of elements, static and dynamic, sensational and somnolent...." Profound, but eminently forgettable words, but they have stuck to my memory only  because of DR, who probably did not hold a bat in his hands ever in his life.  Such was his magic with English-teaching.  The magic that even the government apparatus had to take cognizance of - no wonder DR was awarded the best teacher in year 78, I believe.

The Hindu High School never aspired to be  the preferred destination for the high street folks and the well-heeled kids of Triplicane (not that there were many in theTriplicane of those years).  It never probably got 100% results in X and XII throughout its history.  It never ever bore any pretension of being the best school around.   It was a plain, unassuming, chalega type of school for those who did not have many monetary options or the inclination  to look for other better choices when it came to selecting a school. It was all very simple for us - if you are hungry, you have to eat, if it is 10 p.m. you have to hit the sack, if you are out of the montessary and maladhasary, you have to head straight to the Hindu, for class VI, as simple and natural as that.

At a personal level, it is only my stint in the Hindu that has shaped my identity, for whatever it is worth.  I still  retain the 'Webster English dictionary' I got as a prize from the school in class VII  and that tome has particularly served me well over a span of more than three decades. I still, with pride, leaf through the 'Purananootru chorpozhivugal', my first prize from the Hindu, though I have never managed to go through it in entirety, till day.  I still wonder why on that humid August evening, just after I collected my prize and exited the stage, a teacher came running back after me and admonished as to why I ignored the extended hand of the chief guest after he handed over the prize to me, did not shake it and just walked out.  I have tried to recollect that scene a hundred times but still do not remember seeing any proferred hand.  Me being sick with high fever that day notwithstanding!

Reminiscences spanning seven years cannot be capsuled into a seven para narrative.  It would be sacrilege to even try to do so.  I would attempt a separate series on the wonder that is Hindu perhaps at some later stage.  Before that, I would ensure I deserve to do so - like by attending the next annual day, for a start; like  by resolving (only resolving!) at least  to pay my mite back to the institution that has shaped me.  Like by marking my diary to be present at the stage ground 15 years hence (If I am still around) when my school would celebrate its 175th birthday.

Had my father had the influence and the moolah in 1976, I would have donated my way into a more hep school.  Had I had felt the necessity, I would have explored better schooling options.  I had neither.  And I am glad for that.  For destiny took me to the Hindu and I am none the worse for it. I opted for the Hindu or rather the Hindu was magnanimous to take me.  Whatever! Thanks the Hindu, thanks my alma mater!

Give and take policy-even for Balaji!

Karuppiah was always a contented traffic constable.  He never aspired to become an SI and climb up in life.  For he was aware of the wicked ways of the greedy, capricious human mind.  Once an SI, it sets its eyes on becoming an Inspector, once an Inspector, it does not let you rest till you become an Assistant Commissioner and every AC, in turn,  lives out the dream of becoming a DC.  Karuppiah would have none of it.  He is content with whatever life has bestowed him with.  He is a happy man with two children, the elder doing college and her younger sibling in polytechnic.  His basic is Rs.7200 and what with DA at 140%, subsidised accommodation at the police quarters, liveries twice a year and free travel pass, he does make ends meet. Life is not easy but then whose life is a breeze nowadays?

There is but only one thing on which Karuppiah does not compromise.  The daily morning beat at the Thousand lights traffic junction.  Always  obedient and subservient to his masters, he has always managed to curry favours with them and stick to that prized posting for years together.  On the rare occasions when he was assigned duty  at other places, he would beg, plead, cajole and threaten anyone who mattered, to cancel the order and revert to his original beat.  For that particular junction had a reputation of a minimum guaranteed return of Rs.800 each week day and Rs.300 on lean days. It is there for the taking but it requires a rare combination of endurance and intelligence to reap the harvest.  Endurance, because it means standing under the hot sun for at least six hours a day and intelligence, because he has to find some modicum of  violation of rules in even the staunchest among the law-abiders.  The goods vans he accosts might stick to the speed limit, have the perfect papers and a valid FC.  But our Karuppiah would still succeed in extracting at least Rs.50 from the driver on the pretext that the tail lamp is broken. 

 "But then this is broad daylight!" the driver may protest but Karuppiah would not budge..  

"With the same broken lamp, you might drive in the night", he would say.  

"No, I would not." 

 "Yes you did, just last night.  TN 22 Y 6279.  I do not forget a vehicle for one week if I spot it once.  Were you not speeding through  Pycrofts Road last night?"  

The driver would not be expecting this.  He would quietly dig into his pocket and fish out a tenner.  After three rounds of hard negotiations, Karuppiah would settle for 50/- and release the hapless driver.  And then laugh within himself.  For he knew that eight out of ten times, a goods van sporting the owner's address as '35, Oil Monger street, Zambazar' would be roaming the vicinity of Pycrofts Road every evening.  Karuppiah would be pleased at his quick-thinking and ingenuity.  But then he was never greedy.  After the daily collections hit the targeted amount, he would quietly withdraw to the corner tea-stall and rest under the shade.  'No more collection today', he would tell himself, 'what are you going to take with you when leaving this world?'

Rajasekaran did not particularly mean to fix Karuppiah for any reason. Neither was his scooter waylaid by Karuppiah any time whenever he passed through the traffic junction, nor had he any general dislike for  traffic constables.  No, it was not Rajasekaran's fault at all.  It was only Karuppiah's misfortune that on that particular Thursday, at 10 in the morning, Rajasekaran just happened to be waiting at the Aavin milk booth at the Whites Road - Mount Road junction for his friend, who did not turn up for the rendezvous.  Lord Saturn assumes many forms, unnoticed by ordinary mortals,  and for Karuppiah, He took the form of Rajasekaran's friend that day.  While waiting, Rajasekaran's eyes fell on Karuppiah doing his 'duty'.  The initial amusement turned into amazement, then to a slight sick feeling and ultimately after the expiry of 30 minutes, to one of plain anger. 

A little introduction on Rajasekaran.  He just finished his MA in Political Science at Presidency and no, he is not looking for a job.  In fact, he is not looking for anything.  He is an 'idealist', as he would frequently remind his friends, and would take pride in enjoying his freedom doing nothing, rather than grab an office job and be a 'slave' of some capitalist master.  The 'idealist' in him saw something wrong in everything happening around him.  He was convinced that the world is going to dogs and it fell upon the lot of people like him to salvage some vestige of hope.  He saw corruption everywhere around him.  Why, only the other day, the clerk at the University demanded 500 bucks for a provisional certificate! The gall!  Rajasekaran said 'go to hell' and did not collect the certificate. Not that it held much value for him.  One may ask how then the 'idealist' managed to eke out a living.  He had for a family, his aged father and an elder sister of marriageable age.  Ekeing out a living was absolutely no problem for him, for the father's pension and sister's salary from the IT Company she does the night shifts for, take care of that.  An 'idealist' like Rajasekaran could not be bothered with the day-to-day trifles of earning a living.  He is meant for higher things, like reforming the world and ridding it of corruption.  Yes, you are right, he normally is seen in a pyjama, kurta and a jolna bag, with thick glasses and a three-day old stubble. The kind one would normally spot doing the rounds of book shops selling Lenin and Karl-Marx stuff.

The trap he set for Karuppiah was something like this.  On that Thursday, with his blood boiling on seeing the grave deed of bribe-taking just before his eyes for the last half-hour, convinced that if he does not step in, this India would slip down to rank 131 from 130 in the corruption index, he proceeded straight to the Thousand Lights police station, even without meeting his friend.  He managed to meet the Asst. Commissioner there and narrated what he has been witnessing at the traffic junction.  The AC was in a foul mood that day, what with two processions slated to pass through his area that day with the prospect of completely throwing the peak-hour traffic into disarray.  Already life has become hell for him for the past two weeks, what with the one-ways and traffic diversions caused by the Metro work causing huge traffic-jams all through the day.  He had absolutely no inclination to accompany this jolna-bag wallah to Karuppiah's work-station at that time. Further, what exactly is the charge this fool is levying?  That Karuppiah is taking money from passing vehicles?  Why he himself has been doing this since time immemorial till he became an AC!  He has stopped now, but purely because there are other easier ways to earn.  Moreover, what harm can a small bribe-taker cause to the society?  

But something about the look and demeanour of Rajasekaran warned him not to take this human nuisance lightly.  For all he knew, he may be from the press with a hidden camera and a recorder. Images of 'Breaking News' from the TV played in his mind.  How the AC wished that the earth would be one day free of the press-people!  Life would be much easier for everyone!  And so, with great reluctance, he accompanied Rajasekaran to the junction, stood at a distance and started observing Karuppiah.  20 minutes passed.  He saw what he expected to see and Karuppiah did not disappoint him. Always the good cop that he was,   Karuppiah was in a collection spree, oblivious of the world around him  and Rajasekaran with a victorious 'I told you so' grin.  

In deference to Karuppiah's wishes, what happened thereafter would now be summarised in a few words.  He was caught red-handed even as he was pocketing the Rs.20 he just squeezed out of the scooterist without a helmet, departmental proceedings were initiated against him, the case went further up to the Deputy Commissioner in charge of the area and two days after a letter by Rajasekaran to the editor of the leading 'conservative' English newspaper  bemoaned the lackadaisical approach of the authorities in bringing to book a public servant caught in the act of looting the country, Karuppiah was suspended.  The enquiry is still on, at the moment of writing this (which is a good six months later) and the police circles say Karuppiah would be eventually dismissed from service.  

'There is still hope for this country because of the Rajasekarans',  the press said.  'Little bribes are the root-cause of big corruption', the intelligentsia expounded,  'The scourge of corruption has to be eradicated and the effort should start at the bottom - wiping out bribe-taking at the level of police constables and sarkari peons', the local ward councillor said in the last meeting.

Rajasekaran began to be increasingly noticed in the 'civil society'.  The local district lions club  invited him for their open meeting where Rajasekaran expounded on the evils of corruption eating at the very vitals of the society.  He gave a clarion call to all the educated to come out to the streets and wage a war against this evil.  'The crusade has just started', he roared and enjoined everyone to be a part of it.  After the speech, the secretary of the lions club presented a memento to Rajasekaran in honour of his meritorious service towards society.  The meeting ended with cocktails and dinner.

Meanwhile, Karuppiah's daughter was politely told by the private college principal to stop attending the classes because of default in payment of fees of two semesters.  She quit college mid-way and was last seen doing the 12 hour shift in the export-garments unit as a tailor.  Her brother in polytechnic faced uncomfortable questions from his teachers and other students about his father's evil ways and he too one day quit, not to return to the class.  A post-card written by him to his sister informed that he is now in Bangalore, employed in a restaurant as a waiter and that he is well and no one need worry.

And purely by chance, did two people from Chennai got down from the bus at Tirumala, the abode of Lord Balaji, on a Purattasi Saturday and proceeded towards the Vaikuntam Queue complex together for the Darshan. Neither knew the other.  They reached the enquiry counter and were informed that it would take 52 hours in the Dharma Darshan queue.  

'How fast in Rs.50 queue?'

'24 hours'

"And in the Rs.200 queue?'

'may be 8 hours'

Disappointment engulfed both.  They had to return to Chennai very fast. At this moment, the man behind the clerk said, "Buy Rs.500 tickets. You can have the Darshan within 3 hours".  

For both, Rs.500 was a big burden.  A nerve-wracking dilemma played out in their minds.  'To take or not to take?'  They had come all the way with some purpose.  That of pouring out their grief before Balaji and pleading for deliverance from their troubles.  And finally they decided to take the bait.  Bought the 500 bucks ticket, had the micro-second fleeting Darshan within 3 hours and emerged out with the burden of their hearts considerably lightened.  Both were satisfied and were positive that the Lord would answer their prayers.  If faith can move mountains, what to say of these two mere mortals?

Before the story ends, one of the two was the wife of Karuppiah, having traversed 170 kms to implore the Lord to give her spouse his job back.  The other was the father of Rajasekaran, having endured the same travails to invoke Balaji's blessings for his son to get a job. Both had a purpose.  Both had their appointments with Balaji.  And both came out satisfied, sure that their prayers would be answered.  And answered they would be, for sure. Why not?  For both had paid their speed-money of 500 bucks to the Lord!